


Birthday Boy

by RurouniHime



Series: The Arrangement series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday, Cooking, Dancing, Fluff, Introspection, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirty years old, and where was he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piratesmile331](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=piratesmile331).



Thirty. Founders, _thirty_.

Draco traded his Muggle pounds for an umbrella that hadn’t been turned inside out by the wind, and waited for his receipt. The girl at the register dropped a handful of change into his hand alongside the slip of paper.

“Pouring again, is it?” she asked.

Draco smiled sourly. “You have no idea.”

She raised her eyebrows, uncertain. “Have a good night, then?”

“Maybe,” he answered, walking away. “If it were any other night.”

A penchant for melodrama, definitely. But it was warranted. Three decades ago, almost to the hour, he’d been nothing but a screaming, bewildered newborn. Not that he remembered a single thing about it.

Draco exited the shop and stepped off the curb, avoiding a puddle that the less attentive pedestrian beside him sloshed into ankle-deep, cursing. Draco smirked and opened his new umbrella. He recalled it being blue, but there was no telling under this streetlamp.

“Always purchasing bloody umbrellas,” he said aloud. The man extricating himself from the puddle glanced over at him. 

“Talking to me?”

“No, I’m talking to me.” Draco turned up the collar of his coat and faced the other side of the road. “Old age, you know.”

The bus blocking his way finally trundled far enough to let him by. Draco jogged between the stopped traffic, easing around dripping bumpers and giving two fingers to a Muggle who had the gall to honk at him along with the rest of the gridlock on Holborn Viaduct. All considerations of a cab had vanished; he might as well walk if he wanted to get home in less than four hours. Luckily, London was crawling with cramped, curvy alleyways, perfect for Apparition; thank Merlin they’d licensed the backyard for the proper Disillusionment charms.

The water that dumped all over Draco when he appeared in the yard made him think he’d brought along the rain from the alleyway, too. Draco cursed. But he hadn’t been all that keen on splinching his arm to the umbrella, so… He ran for the back door, leaving the umbrella to drip on the covered stoop before letting himself inside. The house was warm and quiet, and something smelled delicious. 

“Harry?”

“Have a seat,” Harry’s voice called from somewhere upstairs. “Dinner’s up.”

“You sound like you’re waiting tables.” Draco shed his coat and dried it with his wand, flinching away from the ensuing spray of water. He spelled the puddle away. Then he padded down the hall, kicking off his wet shoes as he went, and tossed the coat over one of the doors he passed. 

The good smell emanated from the kitchen, so Draco headed there. The table was set with two placemats and sets of silverware. Draco lifted an eyebrow: the good silver was out, along with two mid-height candles of an impressive green hue. Draco lifted the corner of a napkin-covered bowl and found sliced sourdough bread. He couldn’t suppress the sigh at the warm aroma of it.

“All right,” he called, pulling out a chair and dropping into it. “I’m sitting.”

“Good,” came the answer, still from the upper half of their abode.

Draco looked around the tidy little kitchen, taking in the steaming pots on the stove. “Afraid I’m a bit bored. Should I be undressing as well?”

Footsteps came down the stairs at a quick trot. “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” Harry said, arriving at last in the kitchen. He had black trousers on and a light blue jumper that hugged his frame, ending just below his chin in a raised neckline. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He had grey socks on his feet. 

“Welcome home,” Harry greeted him, smiling. He stalled Draco’s attempt to rise with a hand on his shoulder, then bent and gave him a gentle peck on the lips. One clasp of his hand, and Harry was heading for the range and the plates next to it. “Your day all right?”

“Busy.” Draco leaned sideways, giving himself a good look at Harry’s backside. “Thanks for wearing those.”

Harry looked back at him, then down at his trousers. He snorted. “Oh, no trouble at all.”

“You’ve been busy, too.” Draco turned fully in his seat so he could watch Harry. He pointed at the feast yet to be served. “Special occasion?”

Harry tossed a dishcloth at him without even turning around. “No, of course not. Arse.”

Draco smirked. He wadded up the dishcloth and threw it onto the worktop.

Harry came around the table, passing behind his chair and setting an aromatic, perfectly proportioned plate of steak and seared vegetables in front of him. Harry’s sleeve brushed Draco’s arm; Draco inhaled the scent of Harry’s soap and aftershave. Harry leaned over his other shoulder and kissed his cheek.

“Sit tight,” he murmured.

Draco made himself obey. The other option, of course, was to grab Harry by the collar and tug him down to revisit the reality of snogging.

But Harry got away and headed for the side table, lifting a bottle of dark, red, _expensive_ merlot and two delicate flutes between his fingers. 

“My, my. You researched.”

Harry ahemmed importantly. “Yes, well. I like to make a little effort once or twice a year.” He filled both flutes halfway, swirling the glasses gently in one hand as he returned to the dinner table. As he set one down before Draco, he leaned in. “You get so hot and bothered when I cater to your ego.”

“Don’t pull a muscle,” Draco returned. Harry flashed him a grin and sat down beside him, scooting his chair in. Draco reached for his fork, but Harry snatched it away. He speared a chunk of steak and held it up to Draco’s lips. 

“Many happy returns,” Harry said. 

Draco eased the food off the fork, and the flavour spread over his tongue like melting ice, savory and delicious. He shut his eyes and chewed, letting out the appropriate sounds. “Thank Merlin, you didn’t forget.”

“Oh, good, sarcasm again.” Harry set the fork in Draco’s hand, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and straightened up. “I was worried there.”

“Never too old for sarcasm,” Draco huffed. 

“Yours only gets better with age.”

“Please, don’t mention that word on my birthday.”

Harry touched his nose affectionately, and then turned to his own plate. “All right. Instead you get tri-tip with grilled peppers in olive oil.” Draco watched as Harry took a bite, his lips closing around the fork tines, and then followed the soft ripple as he swallowed.

“What, no cake?”

“Later.”

Harry insisted on liberating Draco’s fork several times before the meal was over, and Draco was more than happy to let himself be fed. He’d never eaten a bad meal at Harry’s hands; there were things Harry could create in a kitchen that Draco couldn’t wrap his mind around, and he’d tried. Nowadays, he knew to just sit back and enjoy the results. A gift was a gift was a gift anyway, and he wasn’t the sort to question it.

“Mm, so appreciative,” Harry murmured as Draco chewed the last bit of steak with a sigh. “Makes cooking so much more worth it.”

“Your secret’s out. All I’ve got to do is fake a little ecstasy whenever I want your talents.”

“You’ve been faking, then?”

Draco pulled Harry in and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Harry was grinning again when he pulled away and got up, taking Draco’s plate to the sink with his own. Draco leaned back, pleasantly full, and stretched. Muscle kinks he hadn’t even been aware of were finally pulling free. He took a lingering sip of wine as Harry returned to the table. “So. About this cake.”

“Slaved all day over the icing,” Harry returned in a lofty voice.

“You did not.”

Harry snorted and dropped back into his chair. “No, I ordered it. I’m bollocks at cakes.”

Draco pointed at him. “Too many skills for one person. Leave some for the laymen.” 

“It’s lemon mousse,” Harry whispered into his ear, touching a finger to Draco’s chin. “Gateau cake…”

“You didn’t.” Draco watched Harry’s slow smile. “You _did_. Orgeat liqueur?”

“With plenty for leftovers. Because I knew you’d like that.”

“Well, that’s it,” Draco sighed. “I’ve given up all my secrets, too.” He caught Harry’s hand and brushed his lips across his knuckles. Harry stroked Draco’s cheek and stood up, banishing the empty wine flutes into the kitchen with his wand.

“So.” Harry flashed Draco a grin. “I was thinking we could go dancing. I’ve been eyeing a new club on Tottenham. It’s getting rave reviews. Or we could catch a film.”

Draco thought about it for a long moment. “I think I’d rather stay in if it’s all the same to you. I feel like I’m about to fall apart at every joint.”

“I knew you’d choose dancing.”

“I—” Draco only had time to blink before Harry was stepping back into the hall. “Harry.”

Harry waved him forward, and Draco followed him into the sitting room, frowning. There was a fire on the hearth, but Draco only spared it a glance. Harry raised his wand and gave a complicated wave, then tossed it away onto the sofa. The low strains of muted trumpets and clarinets rose, floating above the soft ting of cymbals. Draco stopped just over the threshold.

“This is Muggle jazz.”

“Glenn Miller, to be exact.” Harry turned lazily on the balls of his feet, letting his head sway in time.

Draco studied Harry, the way his toes sank into the carpet with each step. The slinky tempo of the song was familiar and sweet, and made Draco think of hanging lamps and garden air. He smiled when Harry caught his eye.

“Come on, then, birthday boy.” Harry grasped Draco’s hand and guided him around until his pointed swaying became dancing and Draco was flush against Harry. Harry snugged his free arm low around Draco’s back. He then tucked their hands between them, interlocking their fingers. Lips pressed to Draco’s temple. He heard the soothing rush as Harry exhaled.

“God, is everything about you sexy?” Draco groaned. He leaned into the crook of Harry’s neck.

“Nah,” Harry responded. “Sometimes I drool in my sleep.”

Draco snorted weakly. He lifted his head and looked Harry right in the eye. “You have a sexy mind. And I’m sorry if no one’s told you that before.”

Harry’s lips curved. “Not exactly the most common observation.”

Draco looked back and forth, from green eye to green eye. When he couldn’t look anymore, he exhaled and bumped his head down on Harry’s shoulder. “You are unique, not common.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that before. Boy Wonder this, Wizarding Saviour tha—”

Draco threaded both hands into Harry’s hair and pulled him down. He cut Harry off with a kiss, and made it fervent and deeper than even he had planned. Tasting Harry’s mouth felt feverish. Draco tilted his head until the fit was past perfect. Harry forgot to keep swaying and just kissed him, putting all of his considerable attention toward Draco and what their mouths were doing.

Draco fisted a hand lightly in Harry’s hair again. It was an immediate yearning; he couldn’t help himself.

Thirty, and where was he? With the love of his life, and who could say that and be honest? Because Harry Potter really was the love of his life. He hadn’t always been, but he had been for the past decade. Draco wasn’t sure where he would be if not with Harry. Who he would be, if he wasn’t with the one he loved over all the others.

He pulled away, drawing a quick breath. Their noses were still very close together. “Sooner or later,” he muttered, “you’ll turn thirty, and then you might just take stock of your life in one instant.”

“Is that what’s happening? You’re taking stock?”

Draco kissed Harry’s lips. “Yes. Clichés and all.”

A funny thought. There was no way Harry was a cliché. There was only one of him, and his meaning to the world and to Draco was never lost. Never lessened. Draco felt it every time he breathed. He couldn’t describe exactly what Harry Potter meant to him. But he could feel it.

“You’re thoughtful tonight.” It was just a comment, something that didn’t break the mood so much as layer it. Harry’s chin rested against Draco’s hair. Draco could feel the soft material of his lover’s shirt pressed comfortably to his cheek.

“I’ve got several years to mull over, haven’t I?” he answered. Harry didn’t say anything, nothing about the weight of turning thirty, of remembering when one hadn’t been thirty and how much that had been taken for granted. Draco wasn’t sure if he really was missing the pre-thirty years, or if he just thought he should miss them. 

There had been a lot of pre-thirty years spent in unhappiness, after all.

Moonlight Serenade faded into Duke Ellington. Harry’s hand trailed up his back, making him shiver, and abruptly reminding him that he had muscles _to_ shiver. Bloody hell, he wasn’t falling apart in his third decade. Harry still found him sexy enough to touch, to hold, to shag and to kiss. To spend his time with, and Draco no longer made the mistake of thinking that time was something to trivialise. If he stated that out loud, Harry would just tell him to stop being maudlin, he’d roll his eyes and smack him on the arse for being a complete sot, and maybe, if Draco continued on the same thread, he’d push him backward onto the couch, pull his clothes off, and show Draco just how aroused he still made Harry. He’d fuck the disbelief right out of Draco’s head; Draco knew Harry could do it, and damn well. If that was what he hinted that he needed, he knew Harry would oblige him, whether consciously aware of what he was doing or not.

They’d done that a lot during their first relationship, when the edges were just beginning to erode. 

Draco knew without a doubt that he didn’t need that backwards affirmation tonight. He had what he needed; it was fulfilling parts of him he hadn’t possessed years ago. Tonight, he was thirty, and dancing and old jazz were the perfect presents.

Eventually the dance gave way to the sugar-tartness of lemon gateau cake in the kitchen, and Draco took his plate— and Harry— back down the hall and over to the fireplace. He pinched off the end of his slice and urged it between Harry’s lips, letting his thumb linger. Harry let Draco lick frosting from his fingers, and the cake slices eventually disappeared completely. Harry let out a sigh and collapsed back onto the thick rug, pulling Draco with him by way of the nearest sleeve, then proceeded to rub his forehead with his fingertips until Draco forgot about the tick of seconds, only aware of the crackle and split of the logs on the fire.

When Harry’s arms had long since settled into a firm grip about his middle, Draco rolled sleepily to one side. Harry’s heartbeat sounded steadily in his ear. “Mmm.”

“Question?” Harry’s fingers flexed around his where their hands rested on Draco’s stomach.

“What else are we doing tonight?” Draco murmured.

He felt Harry shrug. “Whatever you like.”

“Sex, maybe,” Draco answered, and Harry made an amused sound.

“Could have sex tonight.” Harry’s lips brushed his ear.

Draco shifted, groaning as he turned onto his side and tucked himself against Harry. The fire’s warmth flowed over his back. He slid his other arm around Harry’s waist. “After sleep.”

“Yeah. Now that we’re old crotchety geezers, we’ll be needing to—”

Draco fumbled around until he located a pillow from the couch, and flung it up into Harry’s face.

* * *

Three hours later, Draco raised himself off of Harry’s heaving body, trembling and sweaty, and feeling each inch of his lover’s withdrawal. The fire had burned to embers, casting an amber glow over their skin. Harry inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. His fingers encircled Draco’s wrist and held on.

Draco licked his lips, sensing their swollenness with the tip of his tongue. His hair was plastered to his forehead and probably resembled a porcupine further back, but Harry lifted a hand and ran his palm over it, down Draco’s cheek and over his throat in a slow, drowsy sweep. His eyes opened and stared heatedly up into Draco’s. The look in Harry’s eyes sent tremors through Draco’s limbs.

“Harry—” Draco whispered, unsure what he would say. There were depths into which he could dive, here, now.

“Yeah?” Harry said, voice thick.

Draco gazed at him for a few seconds. “I believe it’s time for my midlife crisis. There’s a Muggle Porsche I’ve had my eye on, and perhaps you could look into available young twinks on your days off.”

Harry’s face shivered, cracked, and then crumpled into furious amusement. He began to laugh, hard. Draco grinned, watching him cringe up and shake with it. He lowered himself back down atop Harry and let out a contented sigh, hugging both arms around his lover’s naked torso. Harry hugged him back instantly, cuddling him even closer.

~fin~


End file.
